


"Okay?" "Okay."

by AristocatSlippers



Category: Spider-Man (Cartoon 2017), Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 13:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12935847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AristocatSlippers/pseuds/AristocatSlippers
Summary: In a fight Peter gets injured and stuck in hospital, leaving Miles feeling and guilty and Harry angry. And maybe that's because, at first, none of them are okay.





	"Okay?" "Okay."

Peter is tired and slow that day and Miles curses that he doesn't notice it. Miles curses it when they’re fighting on roof tops, overpowered and outnumbered. Curses it when he sees him collapse from exhaustion. Curses it when Peter takes a hard hit and he sees his friend fall from the top of a twelve storey building. Curses it when he slams into the ground. Curses it when Peter doesn't get up. 

He forgets about fighting, runs straight to him. He hasn't moved an inch, but he’s still breathing at least. Miles picks him up and slings him over his shoulder. He shoots a web and carefully swings away from the battle. Finds them somewhere safe, and sits him down and begins to check him over. Miles knows there’s little time before he will have to go back and finish their fight or they’ll find him and Peter may be put in more danger. It makes him hurry desperately. He shakes his arm, begging Peter to wake up. 

“Pete! Come on, just wake up!” He tries his best, but he doesn't stir, Miles won’t stop frantically shaking him, “Stop messing around! This is serious!” 

Something warm and sticky drips on to his hand, he pulls it away. The growing hysteria bubbles over, Miles wants to scream and instead he becomes far too calm. He stares at Peter. The colour of his suit isn’t the only red that stains Peter's body. Miles barely even stops to think, doesn't register his actions at all. Just tugs the suit off of his friend, dials an ambulance and takes him back down to the street. The street where he sees Harry Osborn, searching desperately for his best friend. 

“Peter! Where are you! It’s dangerous, stop disappearing like this!” Harry keeps running down that street, hoping he’ll find him. And he does. When a hero - or someone who claims to be one - lands his feet in front of him and carries his best friend on his shoulder. Harry almost lets relief flood him, but he freezes when the red of blood finally stands out to him. When he finally notices the call of sirens, feels the vibration of wheeled vehicles hurtling down the road. It stops beside them. Flinging open the doors, the paramedics rush out and both can see in their faces that it isn’t good. 

A moment later the ambulance is gone, taking him away from them. Miles curses it when he stares Harry in the eye as he watches his best friend disappear around the corner, hurt and bleeding and possibly dying. He turns his head away, can't take the guilt that threatens to overwhelm him. Can't take the hatred that burns in Harry’s eyes, directed toward him. Can't take the smallness of his voice when he speaks. 

“Why do you call yourselves heroes when he’s dying?” Harry sounds defeated, because he may have hated them but he knows they try to keep people safe, and now he knows they don't always succeed. 

Miles swallows the lump in his throat that chokes him so mercilessly, he doesn't answer Harry’s question, just swings away on a web to let out his anger on someone who deserves to feel it. Maybe it’ll help him win, knowing that they deserve it. He mutters an “I’m sorry” under his breath, wonders if Harry would still blame them if he knew who they were. And he knows Harry blames them because he hears him shout behind him that he hates them. Harry Osborn hates superheroes, he hates spider-man and he hates him because they let his friend get hurt. Miles let his friend get hurt, and he fully believes that it is his fault. Miles curses it. 

*

Peter doesn't wake up, the doctors tell them he will in due time - that it’s just a matter of healing up first. But Miles can't help the anxiety that it fills him with. He worries that maybe they’re lying, that maybe Peter truly is dying but they’re refusing to tell him. And visiting his hospital room does nothing to ease that fear. 

He shouldn't be as surprised as he is, he thinks, to see a dishevelled May Parker sitting in a plastic green chair by her nephew's bed. She hunches over the bed, sleeping head resting on the hospital bed. May tightly grasps Peter’s hand in her own. He starts to leave before he can disturb her, but the sound of the door creaking shut causes her eyes to snap open. Miles finds her to be the second person he can no longer look in the eye. He doesn't want to see the bags so clearly painted underneath hers, not when they match so perfectly his own.

“Don't leave,” she tells him, “I bet he’d rather his friend were here than his silly old aunt.” She tries to laugh, but it comes out as a sob. 

Next to her, Miles sits on the floor and simply gazes fixedly, eyes like glass. He wishes he’d brought flowers, or a card or something more than his own stupid guilt. “How are you going to pay for it?” He asks, “I-I’ll help you if-if you need me to…” he trails off, unsure of how, or perhaps unable, to continue. 

She looks at him far too kindly, “It’s okay,” she whispers the words to him, “I’ve got it covered…” 

She doesn't want to tell him that she can't afford it, or that it feels wrong to let Peter's best friend pay. But he wanted to, wouldn't accept no for an answer. She desperately hopes that it won't be a waste. She doesn't realise at first, Miles rubbing circles on her back, she wonders who he’s trying to comfort. Him or her? It works, just a little, just enough that it sends her exhausted self back to sleep. In front of Miles there are two peacefully sleeping Parkers. 

He takes it as his cue to leave, rises and is nearly out the door. It doesn't feel right, his feet take him back to the bed. “You’ll be okay, yeah?” 

He doesn't say it to anyone in particular, doesn't think they can hear him. Bending over the bed, Miles hugs Peter tightly. He imagines the pressure of being hugged back then releases him. He’s never liked hospitals, and this one he can't stand. He slips away in silence, and stumbles down the empty corridors. His head swims with thoughts, it makes him feel dizzy and he leans against the wall for balance. Miles escapes outside and leaves the pale, white sterility behind him. 

Fresh air calms him, lets his breathing slow down, become almost normal. As normal as he's been able to get it these past few days. His feet wander, streets a blur. Miles takes a deep breath, exhales. He stares at his feet when he walks, paying no attention to anyone else who might be using the pavement. It's too much effort to keep his chin up when so much of his emotional strength is drained. He walks into something hard, wishing he’d been watching where he was going; he thinks it’s a lamppost at first, until the lamppost looks up and apologises. Miles meets tired, tired eyes.

“Harry… How are you holding up?” it’s a tentative question, he’s not sure that he wants to know the answer.

Harry sighs, runs a hand through his already unusually messy hair, “I’m…. I’m alright.” He tries a weak attempt at a smile, “How about you?”

“Not great. I’m worried about him, I admit.”

Nodding in agreement, Harry lets the facade drop. Harry studies Miles for a minute, points to the cafe he usually goes to with Peter, “Do you want to get a drink or something. I think we could both use the company.”

Why are they both acting like he died? It makes Harry angrier but he won’t take it out on Miles. Instead Miles takes him up on the offer, maybe having someone to talk to makes it easier. The cafe is just as noisy as it always is, it hasn’t noticed one person’s absence, replaced by someone else. How could it? The waitress serves him the same two drinks Harry always buys. He takes his own, lets Miles reach for the other. It doesn’t feel right, he almost snatches it away, wants to say that that’s Peter’s. Part of him, some part of him not completely consumed by upset and anger, stops himself. It wouldn’t be fair.

Miles finds his voice unexpectedly thick, “Do you think, if one of us had been there, we could have stopped it happening?”

Harry mulls the thought over, “Maybe, but spider-man hasn’t shown up since the fight that hurt Peter. It was his fault, he should have stopped it happening.”

Miles takes in a sharp breath, feigns surprise, of course he hasn’t. “The other spider-man hasn’t shown up since either,” he lowers his head, stares fixedly at the liquid swirling in his cup, “Right?”

Harry shakes his head, “Neither of them have been seen. I hate them both, they’re not the heroes that they think they are. Still, I wonder why they’ve both disappeared...”

Harry can’t read the expression on Miles’ face when he answers, “Maybe they’ve given up…” his voice falters, he clears his throat, tries again, “Maybe they’ve finally realised they do more harm than good. Bring too much trouble with them.”

It bewilders Harry, just how affected Miles is by this turn of events. He only just now realises how close Miles and Peter must have become. It’s a jolt of electricity through his body, he wasn’t the only one needing a shoulder to cry on. He pats Miles’ shoulder gently. Miles continues speaking. 

“They always say that spiel about great power and great responsibility. Yet they were never responsible. They let someone get hurt. Peter didn’t deserve to get hurt. They should just stop, let the real heroes do it.” 

Miles’ voice becomes quiet, tears gather at the corners of his eyes and he rubs at them with balled up fists, “They should never have been heroes.”

He doesn't understand why it affects Miles so much, why the words carry so much weight to him, still, Harry agrees, “They might have powers, but in the end, they're just normal people.”

Miles clears his throat, searching Harry’s eyes for any sign of doubt in his statement, “They're just normal people.” 

So maybe he doesn't hate them, not given every time they've saved him. But whatever he is about to say is cut off by the shrill ringing of his phone. He accepts the call without checking who the caller is, holds it up to his ear. Miles can't hear what the person says. Although, if the way Harry’s eyes light up and how he almost shouts the word “Really?!” is anything to go by, he can expect that it’s good news. 

The call ends and Harry packs away his phone, he slams some money down on the counter and tugs Miles by the arm. He stops for a moment, considering Miles’ bewildered expression. 

“Come on, we have somewhere to go!” he tells him, as if it explains anything. 

They're just outside the door, café bell chiming as it opens and closes, when Harry darts back inside. He grabs Miles’ untouched drink, puts a lid on it and rushes back out. He smiles at the startled waitress that he breezes past. Miles stumbles along behind him, lets Harry lead the way, still pulling him forward by his sleeve. Miles almost trips over his own feet, Harry walks so fast. 

“Where are we going?” Miles waves his free hand around, gesturing with flattened palm to the city around them. It’s not that he feels lost in the streets of New York, he's used to its people speedwalking and jostling into him, more preoccupied with their phone conversations than where they're going. It's just that Miles, at least, would like to know where he's being dragged off to. Harry’s answer fills his stomach with a swarm of butterflies - or wasps; by the way the feeling stings him, Miles thinks that it is most definitely wasps flying around his internal organs. It’d be nice if they’d just leave him bee… now that's a pun Pete would have appreciated. 

“The hospital,” Harry tells him, his voice still carries its earlier sadness and frustrations, although with a layer simply removed from it. It seems somehow lighter. 

Feet planting themselves firmly in the pavement, Miles freezes, shaking his head, “I don't really want to go back there Harry.”

“Fine,” Harry snaps at him, “Would it make you feel better if we brought the guy some flowers?” He sighs, disliking Miles’ silence and the hurt look on his face. _Learn to watch your tone dude._ Scrubbing a hand down his face, Harry apologises, “Look, I'm sorry for snapping at you. It's just, it's Pete. The only time I get to spend any time with him without him running off somewhere without even a moment’s notice is when he's hurt in the hospital. It's… frustrating.”

Miles nods slowly, “Yeah, yeah, I get you. He does have a habit of disappearing all the time.” Miles grins at him, jokingly, “Would it make you feel better if we brought the guy some flowers?”

Harry lets out a laugh, some of the tension easing from his shoulders, “Yeah, maybe.”

They take a detour, buying some from the first florist’s they find, Harry picks the bouquet that he thinks has the best ‘Get well soon’ vibe, not that there are any flowers to give off that specific feeling. He thanks the cashier, tipping her generously, the grateful look on her face is wasted with his back to her as they leave. Wind whips around each of them as they walk, New York’s winter streets half freezing them to death. Miles is relieved to reach the hospital, if only for the respite from the wind. 

His legs stubbornly refuse to move past the warm threshold, but Harry drags him along to the reception desk anyway. It might’ve been easier for him if they could just go straight there, but procedure calls for them to sign in for visitor hours. Harry smiles at the receptionist.

“We’re here to see Peter Parker, is he taking visitors right now?” he states with some kind of misplaced cheer that confuses Miles. His eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand Harry, and maybe the penny finally drops. It makes sense, all of a sudden, that Harry would want to come to a place like the hospital, it would depress both of them to see Pete lying seemingly lifeless in a small, little bed - he must have woken up. 

“Yes, room 403. Visitor hours end at six pm.” 

Harry nods and tugs him through the corridors. He doesn't protest so much this time, half the weight on his chest has grown wings and disappeared. He doesn't feel quite so guilty anymore, he didn't let something as irreversible as death befall his friend and mentor. Relieved enough to finally notice, Miles realises that Harry hasn't let go of his sleeve since they left the café, he almost laughs and tells him he won't run off. Almost tells him not to worry because he's not going anywhere because what he wants most is to see Pete perfectly fine and well, just as much as Harry does, but he keeps it to himself because he's there. He's there so Harry doesn't need his words to say what he already knows. Somehow they're outside his room before Miles has had any time to prepare himself. 

He grips the flowers tighter in his hand, ignoring the slight prickles of pain from thorns pressing upon his fingertips. Pausing, he listens for a minute and hears laughter. Chanted words of worry and blame bounce around his head, ceasing and stilling when that sound reaches his ears. Harry pushes open the creaking door slowly, reluctant to interrupt. But they find themselves staring into the dim room anyway, the starch white curtains - everything here seems to be starch white, Miles doesn't particularly like it - are drawn shut. Despite this, they're thin enough that muffled light still makes its way through. 

The room quiets and both Parkers turn to stare at them, a second later and Peter is trying to leap out of the bed to hug them. May pushes him back down, quietly murmuring something about him having to rest. His blanket falls to the side, exposing him to the cold of the room, instantly grabbing for the warm blanket, Peter fights to keep himself from shivering and his teeth from chattering. Harry strides over and sits on the end of the bed, unperturbed by the bandage tightly wrapped around Peter’s head. Locating the vase, Miles holds up the flowers so that Peter can see them clearly. 

“We brought you some flowers. You're meant to do that right?” Miles keeps himself distracted by fussing with the flowers, he unwraps the bouquet and arranges it in the black vase. It helps to stop his eyes straying to Peter’s bandage-bound head and his thoughts from wondering how bad it was, he knows all too well that he would just end up staring. 

Peter laughs, “What are you guys? My boyfriends?” 

Harry shakes his head fondly, lightly and hesitantly bumping Peter’s shoulder with his fist, “No. Pete, I think we’d know if we were.” Harry laces his voice with sarcasm. All three of them laugh. 

Peter pouts at them, “Pity, you guys are missing out. I’d be a great boyfriend, handsome, funny, smart.”

Both Harry and Miles snort, “Keep telling yourself that.” Harry commiseratingly pats him on the back, “It’s okay buddy. It doesn't matter if none of that was true.”

Peter allows himself to seem just slightly offended, but can't keep himself from chuckling as Miles chimes in too, “You don't expect us to lie now, do you?”

Harry agrees, “Good friends only tell you the truth!” he adds in a sing song voice,pausing after as if he’d forgotten something. He roots around in his bag suddenly, producing a cup which he inspects. “Oh good, it didn't spill-” he shoves the drink into Peter’s hands, “-I brought you your favourite milkshake from the café.” A moment later, after more rummaging, he pulls out a straw and hands that off to Peter too. 

He grins at Harry, “Thanks,” he says, then takes a long sip. He drops the cup, startled when May snores, loudly breaking the room’s comfortable silence. 

“Nooo!” Peter cries when it falls from his hand, somehow catching it with lightning quick reflexes before it hits the bed and splatters everywhere. Harry stares dumbfounded and bewildered with wides eyes. Over Harry’s shoulder, Miles mouths at Peter. He can almost hear the words hissing out his mouth, “Should have just let it fall,” he can see the words in Miles’ arms waving about in an attempt to communicate with him. 

Excitement fills Harry’s face, “Dude that was awesome!” he exclaims, nearly bouncing, “How’d you manage to catch that? It was super quick and you are not athletic. Like at all. In fact you're probably the least athletic person that I know.” 

Peter cuts off Harry’s rambling, drawling, “Thanks for that Harry.” He shrugs his shoulders, “What can I say? Milkshake gives me superpowers.”

He sees Miles facepalm and shake his head, he tries to keep himself from laughing and apologising. He barely just succeeds. 

Harry sighs, “Yeah, those milkshakes are amazing. I can't believe I left mine but remembered yours…” he attempts to deftly swipe it from Peter’s hands, but Pete holds it out of his reach. Harry tugs at his arm to pull it down so that he can grab the milkshake. Peter just raises it higher, ignoring the fact that if Harry just stood he could easily grab it and snickering at his friend. 

The nurse sneaks into the room amongst all the liveliness, she half feels bad for kicking them out despite visitor hours were technically over now; her watch was already ten minutes late, she couldn't exactly let them stay any longer. She clears her throat, formal as she should be, “Visitor hours are over now-” she turns her head between Miles and Harry “-you two boys need to go home and give Peter his rest.”

They nod sullenly as she takes the plate of bland-looking food from the trolley and places it on Peter’s lap. He grimaces, never having loved the taste of hospital food. Without another word, the nurse leaves, pushing the rattling trolley out in front of her. Harry hugs him too tightly, squeezing all the air out of Peter’s lungs, “Can’t… breathe…” he wheezes out. He's glad that Harry only loosens his arms and doesn't completely release him, he hugs him back and pats his back.

“You can come again tomorrow Harry, you know that right?”

Harry laughs, letting him go and standing up, “Yeah, of course. Duh Pete.” Harry waves at him, walking towards the door, “See ya tomorrow!”

Behind him, Miles follows. Before he leaves, he crosses over to May and gently wakes her. He murmurs quietly to her that she needs to go home now and she rubs at her bleary eyes. Miles pivots around to face him, “So you're okay?” he asks him. 

Peter nods, “I'm okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Someone tell me if this is actually angsty at all. I do fluff normally so please freaking tell me if I managed angst for like, the first time ever.


End file.
